


Thunder

by VerbenaHA



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Backstory, Brotherly Bonding, Illnesses, Protective Siblings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-14 01:19:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4544637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerbenaHA/pseuds/VerbenaHA
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Auguste always took care of his little brother when he was scared. Years later, Laurent sometimes takes care of others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thunder

The rainy seasons were cruel in Vere. Prince Laurent was a child when one of the worst storms of the decade had flown over the palace in the dead of night. It lingered late into the morning, but by noon, for a few hours, the clouds receded. Laurent and his older brother Auguste packed food and chocolate and walked to a quiet spot in the woods to eat.

The populace in the city of Arles went outside to enjoy the few hours of warm, peaceful respite before the rain returned, accompanied by forked lightning and thunder and rattled the windows. Most people would say that the rainy season was one of the prettiest times of the year. There was a mist over the yellow-green grass and rainbows peppered the sky.

The gloom returned late in the afternoon and everyone took shelter. The clouds made the daytime sky black as night. Not exactly a typhoon, but something alike to one. Everything not roped down to the ground was pulled indoors to save it from the wind that had already pulled down trees and tiles from the roof. The mood of the Mother Nature had turned the coast of Vere into a sinister place.

In the shelter of the palace walls, in his suite in the prince’s wing of the palace, Auguste crawled into bed with his love. Outisde the door, a servant began knocking gently at first, then urgently when there was no answer. “This better be important,” Auguste muttered to the partner next to him. The servant called out, waiting out of sight.

“What’s happened?” Auguste asked.

“Prince Laurent has yet to come indoors, your highness.” Thunder rolled.

Auguste blanched. “Why is he outside?”

“He said he needed to go back to the picnic spot to retrieve something he left behind.” Auguste had kicked off the sheets, going for his shoes, still mostly dressed.

“My brother…” Auguste said, white faced. “Is anyone out looking for him?”

“Plenty, milord. Been searching for a half hour.”

“You should have told me straight away, or better yet, kept him inside! There’s death out there in those woods. I’m going to find him.”

There were protests, the loudest of all from Auguste’s lover: “Let me go find him.”

“No,” Auguste said. “I can’t have both of you lost.”

“And the kingdom can’t have both _you_ and your brother lost.” Auguste considered that for two seconds before deciding to leave anyway. This was a thunderstorm and not a battleground: being lost was not a problem for Auguste but but he did not have the same confidence in Laurent. There was probably a servant or guard with him, but if they had not gotten back by now, something was very wrong.

Soaked to the bone, Auguste called out Laurent’s name into the wind on horseback. It felt like ages, but in the end, Auguste found him and his guard, two of them, huddled under a fallen tree three miles in the wrong direction.

“Of course _he_ would know exactly where to find Laurent,” someone muttered while Auguste carried the little prince inside. Limp in Auguste’s arms, Laurent was breathing slowly, shallow, his eyes closed. A sprained wrist, and a bad cut on his left leg, but the worst was Laurent’s fever.

“Get him someplace warm! Now!”

Throughout the night, Auguste shouted orders. He argued with everyone who walked by; servants and physicians, as if telling them to work faster would make Laurent well again. He wanted someone to blame but there was no one.

Laurent wretched in his sleep once, twice, but then lay still, snoring and sweating. He stirred late the next day while a light drizzle fell against the windows. Auguste took his hand and encouraged him until Laurent stirred and opened his eyes. Auguste eventually asked him what he had been looking for in the woods. Laurent stared at him, bleary eyed and did not answer. Auguste panicked.

“Laurent, can you hear me?” he asked too loud.

Laurent flinched. “Quiet.”

Auguste felt relief and laughed. “Can you see as well as you can hear?”

“Just fine,” Laurent said, shutting his eyes tight. “My head hurts.”

“Is it too bright?”

“No. I like the light. I don’t like the rain.”

 

 

Years later, the two princes were again walking to their picnic spot when Laurent felt a bee sting for the first time. Auguste had unwittingly stepped on one himself, seconds before Laurent, the stinger pressing itself further into his toe. He bit his lip and shook, holding out his hand as a warning for Laurent to stay away.

“What is it?” Laurent asked, ignoring the gesture. The pad of his heel came down on the tiny insect. He had never felt the sting of a bee before and he crumpled to his knees, howling in pain. Auguste, in comparison, remained composed until he tried to take a step on his equally injured foot and screamed.

“So _that’s_ what that feels like,” he said, hobbling to his little brother. Auguste knelt beside Laurent and they both lay there until Auguste stood up and carried Laurent out of the woods for a second time.

Days later, Auguste explained that the recent storms had brought down a nest of bees and their carcasses had scattered over the trail, hiding in the grass.

“If they were dead, how did they sting us?”

“A bee’s thorn is like a knife,” said Auguste. “It can still hurt even if no one wields it.”

“Don’t be poetic,” Laurent said, pouting. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Auguste smiled a little. “Does it hurt so bad?”

Laurent shook his head. “It’s not as bad as the rain.”

 

 

Laurent was a man when a new and terrible storm blocked out the sun and turned the sky as black as pitch. The floor quaked and the roof groaned against the terrible madness outside in the wilderness, yet everything remained standing. Walls of cold stone were much stronger than a forest of nimble trees.

Laurent lay alone in his bed and pulled a blanket over his shoulder. He stared at the fire and closed his eyes when the thunder beat in his ears. He thought about warm things like fresh bread and sand on the beach the feeling of strong arms carrying him whenever he was hurt.

Someone started banging on the door to his rooms. “This better be important,” he muttered to the emptiness. The pounding was low, almost soft, but exigent.

“What is it?” called Laurent. There was no answer, only the rhythmic banging of a tiny fist. Laurent opened the door and a boy ran inside, gripping him around the waist.

“Nicaise…” Laurent bent down and picked up the boy. “Oh, it’s okay,” he said gently. “I don’t like the rain either.” He kicked the door closed with his heel. Together they sat by the fire in Laurent’s rooms until the booming thunder was far away over the horizon.

**Author's Note:**

> What I love about Laurent's character is that he seamlessly weaves through classy high society, to flirty middle class, to foul-mouthed streetwalker. He's an expert political-actor but we don't get to see enough of his empathetic side, which I believe he must have gotten from his brother... and which he only reveals to certain people, and very rarely at that.
> 
> SO THIS FIC WAS BORN! It was kind of interesting to write a fic about Laurent that centered mostly around his brother...  
> Tell me what you think! Was there something you liked, didn't like?


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